Magical Malevolence
by kenthel
Summary: When a foreign mage enters a new world, chaos ensues. As she agrees to partake in research, she relives her past, gains new acquaintances as well as enemies, and begins to realize her true goal: power.
1. Introduction

A mild breeze blew stray papers about the deserted city. The slight ruffle was accompanied only by the cushioned footfalls of cloth shoes and a quiet clunk from the end of a staff in rhythmic motion down the street. Icy blue eyes darted about, taking in every motion. Seeing how abandoned the path was, the traveler sighed and shifted most of the weight to the staff.

"How did I end up here?" the figure asked aloud to the empty streets. The voice was soft and feminine. She wore flowing black robes embroidered with blue runes across the cuffs of her sleeves and hem of her skirt. She wore a dark hood, concealing her face to only show her eyes. There was a belt at her waist, attached to it was a case of scrolls and some bags of reagents. Slung across one shoulder, she wore a black knapsack, inside containing a few precious spell books.

Closing her eyes, she enjoyed the peace of the vacant place before continuing down the paved road lit by an obscure full moon, being the only light in the sky. She traveled straight down the street, as it seemed to be the only option – the buildings leaving no alleyways as they loomed above her, some being several stories tall. She came upon what seemed to be a plaza, with a large, well-lit building in the center with stairs leading up to it. As she walked towards the light, it seemed to grow dimmer . . . to barely anything as she reached the steps.

_The closer you get to the light, the greater your shadow becomes._

The words echoed in her mind, unsettling her as she tightened the grip on her staff and whirled around. Her eyes widened as she saw her shadow raise itself from the ground and twist as is grew. Soon, it did not resemble her at all; it had disproportioned long, stretching arms and shorter legs. There was a foreign symbol on its chest that appeared to have been carved into it. It began to walk toward her, its darkness engulfing everything in its path, the fading light around her gave her the faintest feeling of despair as the dark tentacles started to wrap around her legs, her arms. She struggled feebly, and screamed in fright. The blackness enveloped her entire being, and she calmed. For a moment, she found herself soothed in the deceiving comfort. She had been about to close her eyes and welcome the sensation of the warm void when she came to realization.

Her eyes snapped open and she fought the grip on her left arm – her staff arm.

"_Lucis … rep_," she mumbled, hardly able to speak as the ever tightening hold began to suffocate. She fumbled for the proper wording, fear causing a haze. She pulled away from the darkness with her staff and pounded it against the ground.

"_Glacies repello obscunum_!" she shouted with the last of her breath causing the magic to flow through her arm and to her hand. Her staff instantly burst into blue light as it chilled the surrounding air. The black abyss before her retreated and released her. Leaning on her staff heavily, she gasped for air. The creature had stepped back from the light momentarily, but now it reached out to her. She held the staff out in front of her defensively as her other hand dove into a pouch on her belt, retrieving a small blue pebble. The mysterious shadowed hands outstretched its claws inches from her, but the light kept it away like it was fire.

Taking the monster's hesitation as an opportunity, she ran to the right and pointed her hand at its head and gleaming yellow eyes.

"_Frieza_," she muttered, and with that word, the pebble flew from her palm and, as it progressed, it became a small bolt of ice that continued to grow larger as its speed increased. It struck the creature dead center between the eyes and it let out a deafening screech. Fueled by rage, the monster threw its fist towards the mage.

"_Caecus_!" she said in alarm, closing her eyes as she faded from the dimension, magic burning in her blood as she reappeared twenty feet away with no harm done as the fist destroyed the sidewalk and filled it with a spiraling pool.

"What is this thing doing?" she whispered to herself. Never before had she came across such a fiend and she had traveled much of the lands.

The pool began to shift as several miniature dark figures rose out of it and started to creep toward her, skittering across the ground quickly. They formed a ring around her. She lashed out at one with her staff, but it to melt into the ground as her attack missed, the lack of impact throwing her off balance. Another of the lesser creatures jumped onto her back, slashing through her thin robes and shirt and cutting her skin. She winced, reaching for a different pouch; she extracted a ring of maple stems. Another shadowy being lunged at her arm and latched onto her as it bit into her shoulder. Crying out in pain, she turned and pulled at it in vain, as the teeth seemed to sick deeper as she tugged.

"_Incendia_!" she yelled desperately, feeling her robes become damp with her own blood as the monster's relentless onslaught ravaged her back. The ring of maple exploded into flame, sending a wave of intense heat throughout a ten foot radius. The ones on her were set ablaze and fell to the ground. All the fiends encircling her disintegrated into a dark mist. The mage felt drained, the magical lust had left as she dropped to her knees. Laying her staff on the ground, she held her hand to the still bleeding wound on her shoulder and felt her robes sticking to the cut, slowing the flow of blood. It was not the same for her back, where the clothing was in shreds, but she hoped they weren't as deep or potentially lethal.

She looked up to see her doom; the tall, formidable opponent watched her for a moment and reached for her yet again. Knowing she barely had the strength to move, she still felt she must fight. Opening her scroll case she pulled out the first and quickly unrolled it, unleashing the spell.

The letters began to quiver on the page and glow faintly. She prayed silently for it to go faster, shutting her eyes tightly. A cold hand lifted her up to being her face with the monster before it started to crush her. She dropped the parchment and suddenly, an enormous ball of fire erupted from it, striking the creature in the throat. It dropped her in surprise as its neck began to catch fire, which in a matter of seconds had spread throughout its body. The mage landed with a thud and remained inert as the great shadow, screaming in agony, slowly began to melt as it ran, flailing away from her, towards the stairs where it finally collapsed. Particles of darkness rose with the smoke and dissipated leaving no trace it was ever there.

The night returned to silence after the slight crackling of scorched parchment drifted, carried by a soft wind to land gently beside the motionless woman.


	2. The Exposition

Exposition: The World That Never Was

* * *

A cool damp cloth was placed against the mage's forehead, slowly waking her. Her eyes opened and she blinked several times.

"Hey," a soft voice said, "How are you feeling?"

She then remembered where she was, and the battle against the giant black monstrosity that nearly killed her. Such memories reminded her to be on guard as she called for her staff with a weak, outstretched hand and she eyed him coldly, ready to fight.

He sat back on his knees, hands in front of him. "I don't mean any trouble."

He wasn't much more than a boy, she thought, examining him. Big, blue eyes and blond hair. He wore a black overcoat and had no visible weapons.

"Who?" she asked, her voice was barely above a whisper.

"My name is Roxas, what's yours?" he responded, still keeping his distance.

"Aresia," she replied, sitting up, patting her various pouches to make sure all of her belongings were accounted for.

"Nice to meet you." Roxas held out his hand. The magus looked from him to his and raised an eyebrow at his actions. Roxas withdrew his hand and changed the subject. "What brings you here?"

"Curiosity," she stated honestly. She was exploring the world. However many times she had been told that curiosity had killed the cat, it was now that she believed it.

"If you don't mind," Roxas edged closer, "would you explain what happened to you?"

"I fought," she started, trying to find proper wording, "a great shadow."

"That's interesting," he mused, appearing in thought, "Why would a Heartless come here?"

"Heartless?" she repeated, head tilted to the side. The concept of a creature without a heart attacking her was baffling, like this entire place, and its people.

"Yes," he nodded, "Heartless are what are created from the darkness in their hearts once they have succumbed to it. The heart is released and becomes a Heartless."

"How do you know this?" she questioned again, the entire idea was of interest to her.

"Well, you see," he paused averting his eyes, "I'm part of this group known as Organization XIII. We research the heart and its properties because . . . because we don't have one."

Aresia tensed, she reached for a scroll when he spoke again, sensing the danger.

"Wait, it's not like that. I'm not a Heartless, even though I do not possess a heart, let me explain," he said.

Only nodding in response, she did not relax the grip on her staff and she had the incantation of a protection spell on her lips.

Roxas continued, "We are known as Nobodies. When someone with a strong heart gives into the darkness, the empty shell beings to think and act with a will of its own. Without hearts, we are emotionless, we cannot truly feel anything. It is said we never are supposed to exist at all."

"You fear, I saw it in your eyes," Aresia noted.

"It was not a real feeling, just the shadow of one, a memory, a very distant one," he expressed with purposeful faux sorrow.

Finally, the ideal seemed to dawn upon her, but only extended her confusion. One part of her feels pity, for the inability to feel joy or love, but another says the opposite for lack or fear, despair, or sadness. She related it to being color blind. Knowing that there are many beautiful colors in the world, as well as hideous, only to see everything as gray.

She rose to her feet with shaky knees and turned to leave. "Good luck," she said as she proceeded up the steps when Roxas called out to her.

"Well this is some thanks you give when a stranger finds you practically bleeding to death and dresses your wounds?"

The mage felt her shoulder quickly with one hand and surely enough; she felt bandages covering the skin beneath her robes, which had returned to pristine condition as she enchanted them to do so. For a moment, her reaction as to say, "You really deserve thanks for the kind actions done with the goodness of your heart," but she stopped herself and instead replied, "What do you want from me? You obviously saved me at the possibility of some sort of personal gain."

"I would . . . like you to come with me," he said, leaving his knees and stepping forward awkwardly, as though he felt embarrassed, "it would be a great contribution to our research, to compare our differences and stuff . . ." he trailed off.

"Before I agree, I'd like a run through of what sort of research would be done," she replied, considering the least that she could do.

"I'll take you to our building, I can teleport us there-" Aresia was startled at that, which was misinterpreted. "-unless you'd rather walk."

"Not at all," she exclaimed, not intrigued, "you are magi?"

"What's . . . magi?" Her hopes fell.

"Magi are magic users. How can you teleport without being a mage?" Aresia asked, looking him over again for a component pouch or a wand.

"Oh! I use a dark portal, watch."

Aresia looked on in awe as the cloaked teenager extended a single hand and, without a word, a circular mass of darkness came into sight, waves of back reveling into itself. Her daze was broken when she felt him gently grab her wrist. Recoiling out of instinct, she eyed him suspiciously.

"You have to be in contact with me for it to work," he explained before adding slyly, "but are you willing to put your life in my hands?"

Aresia rolled her eyes, "My life is in the hands of magic. I fear not which knows its own, but if that is the case." She offered him her hand, which he took. Aresia closed her eyes as Roxas led her into the darkness.

They were overcome with an icy chill as they left their previous realm. Aresia shivered in the cold, which had never happened before; being able to wield the frost element usually left her immune to its effects. The air, however, was completely bearable to her, which was unexpected by the young Nobody, but he didn't let that show, not that it was difficult to conceal. As she opened her eyes, she was surprised that she could see clearly, but what she saw was difficult to describe as Roxas led her across the bizarre plane. In the distance, there was a red and white swirling orb. The ceiling mimicked the ground in a strange purple and red mix moving towards the orb and while she and Roxas stood still, the odd floor didn't appear to carry them with it. The area made her feel dizzy as she clutched her staff for support. Its long post had mounted on it a purple, spiked spade that glowed eerily with power in a ghoulish aura. Though most eyed it uneasily, it brought her a sense of comfort.

"_Come,"_ Roxas' voice rang from within her thoughts. She looked at him strangely, thinking she was mental when she saw him gesture towards the orb and step forward, still holding her hand. "_Come with me." _ She heard again and she obeyed cautiously, testing the ground in front of her with her staff before walking on it. His hand was cold on her wrist, even through her bracers and robes; he sped up a bit. Aresia could see his breath and wondered if he needed to breathe. They were almost at the orb now; it gleamed with a blinding light as Aresia touched it. She closed her eyes to shield them from the light, but it was still white beneath her eyelids. Then, it went black and she feared she had gone blind; she still felt Roxas, but she reached out with her staff hand. She peeked an eye open, dreading the possibility of the curtain of darkness not being lifted. She saw a wall, a white one. Breathing a sigh of relief, she properly examined where she was. A hallway. It was plain; the bleached walls lighted fluorescently. The hallway was lined with doors; the closet one, directly in front of her, had the symbols XIII above it. Roxas watched her as she turned her eyes towards him and then looked down to her wrist.

"Is this still necessary?" a smirk danced behind her masked face as he let her go.

"Erm, no," he stammered, then, again, he regained his composure, "If you don't mind, we should check in with the Superior. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to meet you."

"Of course, after you," she said, adjusting the strap on her shoulder and pulling her mask more comfortably over her nose.

Roxas started down the hallway and Aresia was about to follow when she heard a whoosh behind her.

"What do we have here?" a voice called.

In one swift motion, she dug her hand into a pouch and extracted a pinch of sand and turned to face the figure behind her. Without thinking, she sprinkled it in front of her.

"_Omoveo,_" she whispered, then watched another man in a black coat, this one with outrageous red spikes shrink down on all fours and begin to grow a wool coat and wander about, looking for grass. That hadn't been before it yelled.

"Hey, Roxas! Help!" The shout had diminished to what seemed to be more like a sheep's _baa _toward the end. Aresia stepped back and admired her handy work when a very distressed Roxas ran by her and to the sheep.

"Axel! What happened?" he yelled, turning and glaring at her, he shouted, "What did you do! Fix him!"

"Take it easy and look." She pointed at a very disgruntled man sitting on the floor.

"Axel!" Roxas exclaimed, crouching down beside his friend, who appeared to be looking for something on the floor, "Are you okay?"

The man who appeared to be Axel mumbled, "There's no grass anywhere. No grass . . ."

This seemingly bewildered Roxas. "What grass? What are you talking about?"

Axel then spouted, "There is no grass!"

Aresia found this highly amusing as a laugh escaped her. Roxas shook his friend as if he was dreaming and Axel held his head in his hands before he looked up at Aresia. As he focused in on her, he stood, thrusting his hands forward and a pair of red rings lined with miniature spears appeared. As he drew them back, his hands emitted flames.

"You'll pay for that," he stated.

"Oh, really?" she asked sarcastically.

Roxas stood between them, not sure who he was protecting. "Hey guys, cut it out," he said timidly.

"She," he started, paused, then proclaimed, "she _sheeped_ me!"

Aresia looked very smug at this, proud of her profane actions. Then, watching Roxas look at her with an attempt at a silent plea, she sighed.

"You startled me," she explained, "It was a knee-jerk reaction."

"Hmph, next time you better look first or you might end up killed," he snorted, dismissing his weapons, he crossed his arms.

In attempts at being friendly, she introduced herself. "My name is Aresia Centra, you?"

"Axel. A-X-E-L, got it memorized?" he said, indicating his head with his pointer finger before extending his hand in the same matter Roxas had. Aresia studied him, and then looked to Roxas, as she was unusual with the custom.

To break the awkward silence that had accumulated between them, Roxas cleared his throat. "We were going to see the Superior. Aresia has agreed to help us in our research."

"Well, how do you know she's not a spy?" Aresia narrowed her eyes at the false accusation as Axel continued, "Trying to dismantle us from the inside?"

"Yes, because my sole intention in coming to this city was fighting a huge black thing-"

"Heartless," Roxas interrupted her.

"-Whatever. Just to try and mess up your organization? Why would anyone even bother?" she snapped.

At this, Axel shrugged and then grinned at her wickedly. "I suppose," He looked her up and down. "I'll have to keep an eye on you."

Aresia resisted the strong urge to make his wooly quest for grass permanent as she locked eyes with Axel, hers in a glare, his indifferent, though he did raise his eyebrows up and down twice in a quick motion suggestively.

"See you around, Axel," Roxas said, taking Aresia's arm and leading her down the hallway.

"Oh, most definitely." With that, he bowed back and disappeared through a portal of darkness.

The two followed winding corridors that never seemed to change. The only indication that they hadn't been traveling in circles were the door's numbers, which were going down.

"Would you like to hear about the research before we get there?" he asked. Aresia nodded and Roxas continued, "Well, you already see how we have no hearts. We're trying to figure out a way to find out hearts so that we can become whole again?"

"I thought your hearts had because Heartless?" she asked him. She opened her bag and took from it a dark red book that was held shut with a clasp. The spine was decorated with looped, ornate calligraphy which read _Aduro Ignis_. She studied the first page, muttering a few incantations to herself to commit them to memory.

"Yeah, the thing about that is that we have to kill the Heartless, so we can release the hearts. After a heart is released, it goes to this place. According to the Superior, this place is a vortex of darkness where are hearts are born," Roxas explained as they come through a windowed hallway.

"Where is this place?"

Roxas stopped and looked through the fixed pane glass, up into the eternally night sky, there was a moon in the shape of a heart.

"There." He stared up, fixated for a moment before turning to her. "That's why we slay," He clenched his fists and then two key-like weapons appeared in his hands and shined in the moonlight, "every Heartless we see, for that smallest chance it releases our hearts."

Aresia nodded understandingly before awing at his strangely unique weapons, in they were weapons.

"What are those?" she asked curiously, pointing at the keys.

Roxas shrugged and then jumped at her with them in a swinging arc, aiming for her head.

"_Contega_,"she muttered and a light purple shield outlined her. The weapons bounced off harmlessly, sending a shudder through their wielder. Roxas landed on his feet and observed the aura.

"I figured you would've blocked the attack, but not with a purple bubble," he retorted before saying, "These are Keyblades, they are used to destroy Heartless. I am their chosen wielder; no one could take them from me; they always return. Here." He offered her one that was about three feet long and a stainless white, hanging from a chain at the handle there was a blue and yellow star.

She took the 'keyblade' and held it awkwardly in her offhand before dropping it as if she had been burned, letting it clatter against the ground. The shield around her dissipated.

"What's the matter?"

Aresia clutched her hand near to her with her staff hand and appeared to be silently saying something. An expression mingled with a mix of fear and despair was etched onto her face. Finally, she relaxed into relief.

"Mages are not allowed to use swords," she whispered, then her voice gained some strength as she said, "In my interest, I was foolish. I forgot the rule. It is said that those who use swords or maces do not need magic, so it leaves them. Was a frightening feeling. The magic that normally runs hot in your veins evaporates, leaving you with an immortal chill." She shuttered at the experience.

He nodded slowly in response.

She changed the subject, seeing that he didn't understand. "Isn't your superior expecting us?"

"Oh, right, just watch this quick," he said, as he looked to the forgotten weapon and then it reappeared in his hand before he dismissed it.

"Nice trick," she commented curtly and then she continued off down the hallway, her staff's clunk echoes about the empty path as Roxas ran to return to her side.

As the numbers continued to descend, the conversation had turned to other matters.

"What color is your hair?" Roxas asked, trying to peer through her hood. His own blond hair was spiked uniquely and its style barely wavered as he walked.

"I hide it for a reason," she responded, adjusting her hood absent-mindedly.

"I thought you used the hood to hide your face and identity, not your hair," he stated, giving her a knowing look.

"Well, my hair would be part of that, wouldn't it?"

"I suppose," he said, placing his hands on the back of his head as he walked, "How old are you?"

"Old enough," she replied. The two passed a door marked V and took a left. The stone flooring was unbelievably white and she wondered for a second how it was kept so clean.

"Well," he started, "I'm about fifteen mentally. It's complicated for me though. The person I used to be a part of was fourteen when his heart was opened to darkness and a year or so has gone by since then."

"So, technically, you are a year or so old," she pressed, considering this. Are they born to their past self's age?

"Yeah, I guess so, but Nobodies don't really age. I've looked like this since I could remember."

"What do the numbers on the doors mean?" she asked, think of it suddenly.

"Oh, those are our numbers," Roxas explained. He gestured with his hands an X, "That means 10."

Aresia cut him off. "I know."

"Where did you learn it?"

"School."

Roxas looked confused for a second, but he moved on. "Well, my number is 13, or XIII. There are only thirteen members here, we got them in order we joined. So, the Superior is I, and here's number IV's room."

"I see."

Roxas continued, "They have names too, but I address them by number as way of showing respect since they've been around longer than I have."

"As it should be," a calm, quiet voice called from behind. Aresia looked over her shoulder to the voice and saw a tall man in yet another black coat with long straight blue hair. She glanced at Roxas who was no longer paying attention to her.

"VII," he said, nodding in acknowledgement to the man.

"Who," he began slowly, "is she?"

"This is Aresia, we've been on our way to see the Superior. She has agreed to help with our research, number VII, sir."

"Ah, hurry along now." He shooed them away with a gentle wave of his hand before turning and walking the other way. Doing as instructed, Roxas hurried his pace, causing Aresia to stumble over her robes in her haste.

Once outside the door marked I, Roxas knocked twice with the back of his hand. Several seconds later, the mechanical door open to show another uniformed man, but this one was tan with purely white hair and glittering orange eyes. He smiled mirthlessly at the guest before him.

"Saix had informed me that you were coming. Please." He stepped to the side and welcomed them in. He gestured to two chairs in front of a desk. The walls were lined with over-crowded bookshelves save for two breaks for wooden doors. The floor was brown carpeting, a much welcome change from the previous, seemingly unending white, hard, and cold of before. The desk was littered with papers; there were four large volumes piled on the right and a pen case on the left. The chairs themselves were black leather more fitting for a library, Aresia thought as she rested her staff against one and sat. Roxas sat to her right as the Superior settled himself behind his desk. He shuffled the papers into a pile and placed them to the side.

"Let us become acquainted," he said, his tone friendly, "I am Xemnas, number I, or the Superior to those such as Roxas. I am the founder of Organization XIII whose goal is simple to become whole again by recapturing our hearts in a place known as Kingdom Hearts. I trust that young Roxas has already informed you of this?" he finished, allowing Aresia a turn to speak.

"Yes, he has. I am Aresia and I have agreed to contribute to your research on the heart," she answered.

"How did you come upon this place?" Xemnas asked.

"Well, sir, I've always believed I had kender blood," she joked, waving it off. She believed it to be true occasionally. The itch to travel always seemed to plague her; the uncontrollable urge kept her from sitting still for too long. She watch Xemnas look to Roxas, who shrugged.

"I suppose that story could be told another day," he cleared his throat, "For now, we have business to attend to."

"Perhaps you could explain what it is I'll be participating in?" she questioned.

"You would confer with our more scientific members. One is more inclined to alchemy, he would probably make you a guinea pig for his concoctions and how your reaction differs from a Nobody's and a Heartless. Another is not much of a talker, but a shower, he will pick at your mind and toy with your emotions to see how weak having heart makes you. If I may ask, I see you bring a weapon," His eyes glanced at the mysterious staff. "Are you a fighter?"

"When it is required," she answered flatly.

"Then, I'll be interested in seeing you spar with one of our members. Let us head to the meeting hall and continue our discussion there. Would you take her there for me, Roxas?" he asked.

Roxas nodded. "Yes, sir."

"That's a good boy, anyway, I'll see you two shortly," he said as he walking them back to the door. Standing during the conversation, she grabbed her staff and felt the dark wood lovingly. Aresia left the room first and was followed by a slightly disgruntled Roxas. The door shut behind them with an ominous clang of metal on metal.

* * *

Normally, I don't leave messages at the bottom of stories, but since this is chaptered, I need to say that the chapters will end at odd places depending on how much I feel like typing. This is the first part of the chapter which normally is about twenty-five handwritten pages. The beginning will float around Aresia until the other characters are introduced, then the viewpoint will being to differ. The story will contain similar themes with Dragonlance (as shown with the kender) and World of Warcraft (with some of her spells and later on, potions). Also, if it could be noted that Aresia is not the most romantic character any one has ever seen, there will not be any pairings with her in them.

With utmost sincerity,

kenthel


	3. Development of Nonexistent Relations

Development of Nonexistent Relations

*

"Come on," huffed Roxas, walking back the way they came. Aresia went with him, but noticed a distinct change in demeanor.

"Something the matter?" she asked.

"Just dislike being treated like a kid," he confided in her. Being the youngest and newest member, it occurred often.

"I don't treat you like a kid," she pointed out.

The two came up to the door marked V and continued straight.

Roxas stopped for a second in thought and replied, "I know," before starting back up again. They came to two large double doors. They were a symmetrical mix of swirls of black and white with no handles – Aresia assumed they were swinging doors. Roxas stepped in front of her and pushed them open and they walked in.

The room was amazingly white and, as she noticed, Aresia muttered, "What a surprise." Several tall white armchairs rose out of the floor to varied altitudes. In each, there sat a figure in a black coat with its hood pulled up, the person behind it completely indecipherable. As Aresia gazed about the great hall, she turned to ask Roxas what she was supposed to do, but he wasn't beside her. She clicked her tongue and faced the semi circle of chairs before her.

"Members of Organization XIII, this is our newest guest, Aresia," she heard Xemnas' voice announce.

"Where will she be staying?" Axel asked, causing Aresia to inwardly groan, doubting the chance that they would be able to recommend a nearby inn for her to room in.

"I have thought about it and decided that she'll be in a cleared storage room adjacent to the library for convenient surveillance," he answered, "All necessities will be provided and I believe I am speaking for Aresia when I say she would prefer that no one enter without her consent, understood?"

A few people responded with muttered affirmatives and some with rhetorical questionings of why anyone would want to go in her room at all.

"Why is she here?" The question most of them had been waiting for.

"She's agreed to indulge herself in our research. I'm sure some of you are very 'excited' to hear that," he replied, "Also, I need to see her in combat, if one of you would care to volunteer."

"I will!" exclaimed Axel; she saw a figure she guessed was Axel being to crack his knuckles, "A little payback for earlier."

"Axel, is it true that our newcomer here transformed you into a sheep?" An articulate voice asked. Word seems to travel fast, Aresia thought to herself as she smiled.

"Seriously?!" A girlish shout rang off the bare walls, then began laughing hysterically and slapping her knee at his reaction.

"No! She did not!" Axel sputtered out as some other members chuckled a bit.

"Enough!" yelled Xemnas, and everyone calmed, "Then, it is settled. In four hours time, you will fight Axel. Rules are until forfeit, no use of potions of ether is allowed. I'm looking forward to it."

"I love how much of a say I get in this," Aresia spoke up sarcastically.

She heard another member say, "You'll get used to it."

"Roxas, if you'll lead her to her quarters, they should be well prepared by this point. Come back afterwards, we have other matters to discuss."

A portal appeared beside her and hooded figure stepped out and pulled her arm through, taking her, eyes rolling, with it. The time in this one was barely more than a moment before she was introduced to a solid oak door.

"Here you go," Roxas said. He had removed his hood, showing his black hair, blue eyes and child-like face again.

Aresia frowned at him, the door had no knob. She feigned reaching for a handle so he could see the issue.

"Oh, you have to create a password, watch," He waved his hand in front of a control panel next to the door which opened at the motion. He stepped aside so she could read the instructions, "I have to go for now, make yourself comfortable." With that, he vanished back into the darkness.

Aresia watched the control panel curiously. She waved her own hand in front of it, and it closed. Again, and it opened. The inside was a black screen with a flashing green bar on it. Below the screen there was a keypad with letters, numbers, punctuation markings, and several other things. Her eyebrows raised; she went to push the button labeled with a C. Pressing a single fingertip against it, she sighed, thinking nothing had happened, but then, she saw that there was now a C in front of the flashing green bar.

"Awesome!" she gasped, then checking to make sure no one had heard her, she continued to spell out the word "create" when she stumbled across a problem. How was she going to separate "create" and "password"? Aresia held her chin in thought. Well, it must be one of those buttons that I don't know about, she decided. She tried a key labeled "Shift," which did nothing, and then she tried F1, then F2, and F7, all of which proved not to have an effect. Why the hell is there more than one F button anyway? She asked herself in irritation. Then, her eyes saw a key which read "Backspace." She pressed it gently and the last E on her "create" was removed by the green bar.

"No!" she cried. She pushed E again and sighed in relief when it returned to its original position. After that, she pressed the key above "Shift" and jumped in surprise as the screen flashed red and in bold read: INVALID COMMAND.

The screen returned to black with just the blinking green bar. Frustrated beyond belief, she harshly reentered the letters of create and then slammed her staff against the screen, one of the spikes hitting the spacebar and another nicking the panel with a minor indent. Smiling at the newly damaged equipment, she saw that the cursor had now hitched over, creating a space. With her new discovery giving her confidence, she typed out the word "password" and hit enter. She then proceeded to create her username and password without a hitch and the oak door swung open for her. She waved her hand in front of the panel, closing it, and she walking into her new room. The walls were white, with a matching baseboard, much to her dismay. She found some relief when she saw a wooden wardrobe as well as a twin-sized bed in the corner, already prepared with sheets and a dark blue comforter, along with an end table complete with a lamp. A door was open to the left, leading to a compact bathroom with a sink, shower, and toilet. She crossed the room and set her staff against the wardrobe before sitting on the bed. She took off her knapsack on the shelf on the end table. Aresia decided that the bed was comfortable enough; she had slept in worse. For once, she was glad to have a chance to sit away from all of those black coats.

There was a knock. Sighing, she stood back up, waved her hand in front of the control panel positioned next to the door and entered her password. The door swung open to show an older man in the standard dress for this area with a small vial in hand.

"Pardon me if I disturbed you, Miss. My name is Vexen and I would like you to take this. It is just a sample and it normally causes its user to feel drowsy. I guessed that you would want to rest before your duel with Axel anyway," the man named Vexen explained, handing the vial to Aresia, who took it from him.

"Okay," she said, pulling down her mask from her nose, drinking from it, and finishing it. Instantly, she felt too weak to stand as her vision blurred and she swayed, trying to lean on her staff before realizing it wasn't there. She fell to her left and collapsed on the floor. The last thing she saw was a very annoyed scientist muttering about how he didn't consider how much less she weighed than his usual subjects.

Aresia's head was pounding when she came back to consciousness; she heard muffled voices around her. One seemed quite upset.

"What did you do?" a barely recognizable Roxas screamed.

"I gave her a calming draught! She just . . . responded much more effectively," Vexen had said in his defense.

"Understatement," she groaned, opening her eyes and raising a still-asleep hand to rub them. Aresia found that she was no longer on the floor of her room, but on a black leather couch.

"3:48, subject appears to have regained consciousness, speech, and motor functions." A nameless voice announced.

"Aresia, are you okay?" Roxas asked softly.

"Miss, I'm terribly sorry. I think I've made something that will ease your headache from that spill," Vexen started.

"You're not giving her anything!" Roxas yelled at him.

As her vision returned to focus, she saw Vexen and Roxas continue to argue and another young man, with dark hair blocking half of his face, roll his eyes and return to taking notes into a journal.

"You're not even a scientist, XIII! I have seniority and you have no right to tell me what to do!" Vexen snapped back. Roxas turned red in the face and his clenched fists shook.

"What if you kill her? What would that mean for you, only a record broken on fastest death during an experiment?"

Aresia sat up and rubbed her temples as they throbbed.

"Quiet," the other man said sternly, but not loudly. He gained their attention and added, "Yelling solves nothing."

Both Roxas and Vexen appeared flustered. Roxas muttered something and portaled out of the room while Vexen left the potion on the table if she "decided to change her mind." When they had both left, she turned her attention to the one writing in his notebook. He would glance up every few seconds or so.

"Thanks," she said quietly. For a moment, she thought that he hadn't heard her, as he continued to write and did not look up. He reached the end of his page, put his pen down, and closed the notebook. He stood from his seat and walked over to the couch and knelt down next to her. His dark blue eyes studied her intensely.

"Yes?" she asked awkwardly. She was unsure what to think. He did not speak again; he went and retrieved his journal, dragged the chair closet to the table and began to write. Seemingly in the middle of sentence, he sighed and breathed deeply. He rested his chin on his right hand and blew some of the hair out of his face.

"Leaves, sand, and books."

Aresia threw him a questioning look.

"Maple leaves, if I'm not mistaken," he clarified.

She assumed that he must have seen her pouches. "You are correct," she started, "Do you find that strange?"

"A unique combination, I admit," he replied simply, adding, "I've been meaning to ask why you have such items on your person since you arrived."

This puzzled Aresia further, causing her to knit her eyebrows together.

The man smirked. "It was a most interesting scent, strangely crisp, very autumnal."

"Should I take that as a compliment?" She crossed her legs Indian-style under her robes and leaned forward on her elbows.

"It was, in a way. Why do you carry maple leaves, sand, and leather-bound books with you?" The way he spoke made it seem more like a statement than a question.

"I use them to fight," she responded.

"Magus, yes?" he asked, somewhat rhetorically, "The wielders of trees of Fire and Frost; true masters of the elements. There are many books in this library of your kind. I thought them nothing more than fairytales."

"Is this surprising?"

"I cannot feel surprise, mage, but now I do believe in those stories though I would like one inconsistency cleared up. Are there creatures known as kender?"

"There are. I used to know one, Sam Thistlebranch. We traveled together for some time. As it were, I have as much wander-lust as a kender, even Sam agreed. I must have some of that blood in me," she told the man with an extraordinary sense of smell, who jotted another note down into his journal. She glanced at his writings.

"Do you know my name?" she asked him.

"You have not told me it," he replied logically.

"My name is Aresia," she introduced herself though she figured he had already learned her name during the meeting.

"3:55. Subject's name is Aresia," he said aloud as he wrote it in his book.

"What is your name?"

"My name is not constant." He shrugged and watched her as she appeared unsatisfied with his answer.

She tried again. "What is your name now?"

He smirked again, an ill-fitting mark on his serious face. "Zexion."

"That's a nice name," she offered a compliment.

"As is yours," he started, not appearing at all flattered, "Did you realize you're the only one in this building without an 'x' in their name?"

"I did, actually."

"You are observant, what a welcome change."

Now it was Aresia's turn to smile. "I bet you believe you're always surrounded by idiots."

"Not anymore," he said, and then whispered, "I know you'll win your battle, if you arrive on time . . ."

Zexion faded, as if a gentle wind had blown him away. Aresia reached out, but her hand only went through the empty air where he once sat. She sighed and looked at the potion left on the table. She took it up, sniffed it, decided it seemed enough like medicine, and downed it. The headache dulled and the throbbing ceased.

She looked at the extensive library, shelves, rows, and a few carts were filled with books. Aresia wandered between the first two shelves. They were in alphabetical order by the author's last name. She removed a green and yellow volume from the shelf by a man named Amasal. From the cover, she assumed that he was an herbalist as there were leaves wrapping around it. She opened it and read the title to herself.

"A Trip to Nerante, a tale of two mages whose lives and changed eternally through their travels."

That sounds interesting, she thought, turning the page.

_"I met Gargrof on a boat from Danamore, where I grew up. As a young man, I decided to see the world and travel to foreign places to further my knowledge of the magical arts. Our meeting wasn't a pleasant one, as halfway through the trip he became sea sick on my beautiful red robes, ruining them. He apologized profusely and offered me an extra set of his until he could afford to purchase me new ones. Prior to that, he asked me how I could manage on boats so well. Being raised on a port –"_

"Aresia!" Roxas called, breaking her concentration. He came through the door and made his way over.

"Hello," she muttered. He seemed excited.

"What have you been doing? You have to come fight Axel," he said loudly, hurriedly. He grabbed her by the cuff of her robes at her wrist and started to drag her toward the door.

"Oh, right." She allowed herself to be led from the library, book in hand. She stopped suddenly when she felt strangely vulnerable, "Wait, my staff!"

She wrenched her arm from Roxas' grip, went to her adjacently located room, unlocked the door, fetched her staff from beside the wardrobe, and carefully placed A Trip to Nerante on her bedside table before returning to his side.

"Well, aren't you going to port me?" she asked as she pat her reagent pouches, reassuring herself. Aresia pulled her mask back up over her nose.

Roxas nodded, summoning a portal. His cold gloved hand enclosed over hers and she felt like pulling away, but he had already walked into the darkness.

As they departed the dismal abyss, they found themselves in a sullen courtyard. The space between the two buildings was dirt, and not an earthy brown, but a dull gray. She tested the density with her staff and found it to be a bit damp, but hard and smooth. Her slip-on cloth boots had no soles, she expected there to be stray pebbles that might hurt the weak underside of her foot, and she would have to watch her step. On the far left, there were bleachers where about eight of the members were seated, some reclined or legs crossed and others more apprehensive.

Roxas came close to her and wished her luck, raising her hand, his thumb gently stroking her fingers. Then, he dropped her hand and walked towards the bleachers. One member dropped his hood to show bright red spikes as he beckoned Roxas over.

'He's cute, for a kid, I'll give him that,' she thought to herself as she watched the young blonde bound over to Axel and start to talk. Feeling out of place in her robes and cloth hood and her magical staff, its purple glow reflecting her eyes, mixed with the light from Kingdom Hearts as it shone above, keeping the grey courtyard lit.

"Aresia, are you prepared?" Xemnas asked from behind her.

"As I'll ever be," she replied, wiping her sweaty palm on her robes.

Axel rose from his seat and swaggered over confidently.

"Remember," Xemnas warned, "This fight is to forfeit, not death."

"That means you can give up now," Axel boasted. She knew that he would try to make it a quick win, something to brag about and save face after the sheep incident. Thinking back, she saw the flame about his weapons and fingered an orange charm in her pocket with an edge showing in a crooked smile hidden behind her hood.

"3, 2, 1," Xemnas counted down and quickly ported over to the bleachers.

Axel summoned his weapons and swung with his right arm to her head. She stepped back, too slowly as the sharp edges sliced her hood as he came with his left for her torso vertically upward. Aresia blocked holding her staff in front of its path, but the force of the blow jarred her arms, her left more than her right as she felt a twinge in her elbow. He jumped back while Aresia reached for the orange charm and pulled it out; he called up a pillar of flame from the ground and sent it to her at a rapid speed.

"Burn!" he yelled as the column rushed to her.

"_Cortege flamma_," she said as she dropped the charm, which turned into a wall of bricks, swirling and transparent as the color of fire. The incoming wave of fire was reflected off the shield and it bounced off back towards its master, who rolled away to the side and repeated the attack. Again, the pillar was returned to him as barely escaped the fate he had planned for her. He then opened a portal and reappeared behind her, who was prepared for such an attack. She turned, throwing a triangular blue stone at him, which nailed him in the face, but did not more than aggravate him. The pebble fell harmlessly inside of his coat as he ignited his weapons and swung both of his arms to either of her sides, planning to sandwich her between them. With a word, she transposed and, as if she was a hologram, the blades when right through her image.

The hologram pointed behind him and when he turned, he saw Aresia with a scroll in hand. She unrolled it and spoke the words as Axel charged towards her. She thrust forward with the scroll and large white ball of energy flew from her hand, the paper disintegrating, leaving a blue mist trail in its wake as it homed in on Axel. See it approach, he ducked and jumped to her, aiming low with a swift kick which got her in the back of the knee. She fell forward, leaning on her staff, and he tackled her. He held one of his weapons to her throat. Through the shredded remains of her mask, he could see her smiling.

Pain erupted in his back as the missile hit its mark; it lodged itself, leaving a deep wound before dissipating. She pushed him off and struggled to her feet. She limped out of his reach.

Concentrating, she closed her eyes. Another blue rock appeared in her hand and she threw it at him.

"_Geado_," she whispered. The second it struck him, it exploded into an icy mess, sending frost in every direction and clinging to Axel. The ice bit into his wound and stuck to his coat, weighing it down, and stiffening. As the unforgiving cold pierced through his clothing, it set off the other one, filling his coat with snow, its chill set against his bare skin. The cold burned as if it was fire and Axel cried out. He tried to melt the ice on him, but he couldn't raise his arm. He gasped and could see his shuddering breath as he called out hoarsely.

"I," he coughed, and drew another breath, "give."

Aresia bowed very low to Axel and straightened. The 'crowd' clapped, some half-heartedly, some politely, and some excitedly. One member, Aresia guessed was Vexen, ran out to aid Axel. The others stood and left the bleachers. The last one to stand was one writing in a journal at a fast pace, he continued to do so when he was the only one remaining in the stands. Roxas briefly greeted her and walked with her over to Axel.

"Well done," Saix said to her as he passed, giving her a congratulatory pat on the back. Though he was trying to be gentle, he was successful in momentarily winding the frail mage who was weak enough from the fight as the magic's burn in her blood fizzled.

When the two arrived by the wounded pyromaniac's side, there was another there with Vexen. This one had darker blonde hair styled more strangely than Roxas' and was bombarding him with a vicious array of endless questions.

"Is he okay?" the man asked, hovering over Vexen's shoulder as he prepared a thawing agent.

"He'll be fine," Vexen huffed as he cut up pieces of a deep red colored plant and added them to a beaker of boiling water.

"What was that?"

"Flametongue leaf," he responded, stirring the mix twelve times counterclockwise and then setting the instrument down on his tray.

"What will that do?" he asked.

Vexen shook his head and ignored him.

"What will it do?" he insisted.

Vexen's face contorted and he snapped, "Damn it, Demyx! If you keep distracting me, I'll let your friend here die!"

Demyx shrunk away from the outburst as Aresia answered quietly, "It is anti-hypothermia, freezing of the blood, plant. It's like how aloe is to burns."

"You're the one that did this!" Demyx shouted, "Come to check out the damage and relay it to your little friends?"

In her defense, Aresia said calmly, "I came to see if he was okay and to tell him that it was a good duel."

"Oh," Demyx's face softened and he apologized, "Well, sorry for, you know, yelling. . ."

She raised a hand to silence him. "No wrong."

"Axel?" Roxas spoke to him quietly, his hand on his friend's shoulder. Axel merely groaned to show that he was still alive.

"Don't fret now, Roxas. It will be just a few more moments until this is ready," Vexen reassured him, keeping an eye on the bubbling mixture.

Aresia observed the potion. "It's done. You have to have him drink it while it's still boiling."

"What?" Demyx yelped.

"She's right," Vexen agreed. He took up the vial with a mitt on his hand and inched it towards Axel's mouth, who lifted his face away from it.

"You don't expect him to drink that, do you?" Roxas asked, siding with Demyx as the two exchanged concerned glances from each other to their partially frozen companion.

"He has to!" Vexen pressed the hot tube against his mouth and poured its contents into it.

"Their eyes widened as his body began to thaw, the black coat's frost sublimed into steam as it was expelled from the redhead. Axel's fingers twitched as he regained his ability to move.

"Remember, is element is fire," Aresia told them, "I doubt it even hurt him."

"Right, but what about his back?" Demyx said as Vexen rolled Axel on his side. Roxas grimaced at the wound and Demyx turned, covering his mouth. The gash had turned a putrid purple and oozed with infection in some places as some dripped with fresh blood, leaving a trail of sickly orange on the ground.

"It's not bad," Vexen deduced as he produced a bottle of hydrogen peroxide from his coat.

"Are you kidding me?" Roxas exclaimed, "That's what I would expect from the plague!"

"Stop reminding me!" Demyx yelled. He didn't have much of a stomach for blood, it causes him to cringe.

"Does it look as bad as it feels?" Axel muttered before emitted a low moan of discomfort as the chemical bubbled against his wound.

Aresia crouched next to him. "How are you feeling?"

"Horrible."

Vexen started to sprinkle an herbal powder over his back then prepared some bandages to wrap around him.

"Anything I can do to help?" Roxas asked while Vexen cut another strip of two-inch cloth.

"Maybe you could bring IX to the kitchen for some water. The last thing that Axel needs is stomach acid dressing his wound," Vexen indicated Demyx, who was then shaking slightly.

"I'll go too," Aresia volunteered. Before rising to her feet, she added to Axel, "It was a good fight. I truly hope you feel better and recover swiftly."

Axel smiled a twisted, pained smile as Vexen removed his coat, brushing against the raw flesh.

Roxas and Demyx bid him farewell and get well soon before Roxas opened a portal. He took Aresia's hand again as Demyx followed them through the blackness, to appear in a large kitchen.

There were blue tiled floors with matching counter tops. Wooden cabinets lined the wall above the counters and there was a pantry in the corner. A table with six chairs was set up to the right. Roxas opened a cabinet and extracted a glass and headed to the sink as Demyx collapsed into a chair. Aresia took a seat next to him and Roxas returned, offering a glass of water to Demyx, who accepted gladly. He drank in deep gulps, draining the cup before setting it down on the table.

"Feeling better?" Roxas asked and Demyx nodded.

He turned to Aresia. "You didn't seem unsettled at all."

"I've seen battles before. People getting limbs lopped off, faces being melted away as their eyes dripped like tears to the bloody ground," Aresia explained, "I've heard people getting their throats ripped out as they screamed, a sickening gurgle in their final moments . . ."

"Could you not!" Demyx whined, getting up for another glass of water as he paled.

"Really? That sounds pretty awesome; like something straight out of a horror movie," Roxas said, eager to hear more.

"Apologies, Demyx, and it's not the prettiest sight."

Demyx drank another glass and then muttered, "It's no problem. Hey, Roxas, I'm going to go back up to my room for a while, if you want to come," then he remembered Aresia was present as well, "The invitation is open to you too, Aresia."

"Sure, you coming?" he asked her.

She shook her head. "I actually wish to continue a book I found earlier. You two have fun."

"Okay then, you go ahead Roxas. I'll port her back to her room."

Roxas nodded and waved to Aresia before leaving the kitchen.

A silence formed when Aresia stood, waiting for Demyx to escort her to her room. He, instead, attempted conversation.

"So, what book were you reading?" he asked. Aresia decided that he must have a selective memory and the attention span of a kender.

"A Trip to Nerante," she recited, "by Amasal, I believe. I'm barely done with the first paragraph."

"I think I've seen Zexion reading that one before. Then, he's probably read every book in that library. He's usually found with his nose buried in some lengthy novel, but more recently he's been all about that notebook. He takes his experiments and assignments very seriously," Demyx chatted on, "Anyway, I bet that's a good book, it sure sounds like it from the title. Nerante sounds like a really interesting place. Maybe if it's real, I'll get to visit it someday. I know! I can ask Zexion where it is. He might not answer at first though, he finds me annoying."

Aresia checked her mask to make sure it had repaired itself before she let her smile sneak onto her face at his antics. "About that port?"

"Oh!" Demyx flushed. "It completely slipped my mind. Where are we going again, my room?"

Fighting the urge to laugh, she simply said, "My room, next to the library."

"Right! Here we go." Demyx called a portal in front of them and jumped when Aresia grabbed his wrist. "What are you doing?"

"Have to be in contact for it to transport me too," she replied.

"Nuh-uh!" he said childishly, "I've gone with Axel loads of times and we didn't hold hands."

She immediately let him go at that and murmured, "Well, that's what Roxas said . . ."

"Well, he lied," Demyx stated bluntly, "After you, ladies first."

She fumbled through the dark threshold and once again saw the familiar oak door. Almost the only familiar thing in this place, along with the abused control panel, which Demyx, who followed behind her, studied with interest.

"Looks like someone tried to break in. The panel's all dented," he observed, "Better make sure all your stuff's still there."

"I will," she told him, though she knew the real reason why it was damaged, "Thanks for the port and sorry about earlier."

"It's already forgotten," Demyx replied, "Take care."

Aresia didn't doubt him. "Bye."

He left through another portal, and Aresia wondered if he remembered Roxas was waiting for him, but she pushed that way. Unlocking the door, she entered and it closed behind her, she took up the book, returned to where she left off, setting down her staff and sitting on her bed. Her back against the wall, she sat Indian style, book perched on her lap.

*

* * *

A note: The book Aresia is reading is actually of somewhat importance to the plot, though it probably won't show until Chapter 2, which, in terms of FFnet chapters, may be about Chapter 7 depending on how I wish to break it up.

Thanks for reading,

kenthel


	4. Fenix Harbor

The end of this chapter has been described as graphic and horrific in terms of the violence it entails. The material was written by a fifteen year old, therefore, will not be regarded as too mature for young teenagers, but may not be suitable for those under the age of thirteen.

* * *

A Trip to Nerante

By Amasal Elevio

Fenix Harbor

_Being raised in a major port, I was immune to the ocean's sways and waves. He then asked me of my training. I was taught by Miss Virnima, but the students called her Meph, her nickname. She was a small, thin woman with compassionate blue eyes and a warm smile. She wore her dark hair up, out of her eyes. Miss Virnima claimed it bugged her and hindered her casting._

I can relate to that, Aresia thought. Her hair was kept in a clip up and out of her face.

_Normally, when we were on task, she was the nicest woman you'd ever meet, but when we would misbehave, her rage was not something you'd soon forget._

_This earned me a smile from the pink robed stranger as he told his own tale. He was from Vineer, a small town in an elven area known as Greybark Woods. The elves despised magic and he had to sneak away to be tutored by an elderly Archmage in a shack by the mountains. He claimed him to be senile, but brilliant. The man would trip over his own robes, blame a chair, and with a word, reduce it to ashes._

_I had asked why he decided to take his path in magic since he was raised in such a warrior-dominant area. Gargrof explained how a traveler came by his parent's armory and, while waiting for his father to repair a boot, he told the young Gargrof wild tales of people of immense knowledge and power that had no one stand in their way left they be turned to dust or, when the mage was feeling merciful, a wandering sheep._

Aresia laughed, remembering that one experience with Axel and several others involving small animals. One time, she crouched in the bushes, watching an old farmer about to take his sheers to a sheep to have it turn into a squirrel with a puff of smoke and run up a tree. The poor fellow almost had a heart attack. Smiling at memories of her own apprenticeship, she read on.

"_Once I had my heart set on something," he always said, "I'd never back out on it."_

_I respected him for that, and his perseverance. It couldn't have been easy sneaking around those pointy-eared watchmen. As the trip continued, we decided to travel together. Since each of us was a drifting leaf, it might as well be a pair. _

_As we arrived in Fenix Harbor, we disembarked and asked the townsfolk if there was an academy. Both of us proudly dressed as mages, though I was in Gargrof's strange green and yellow robes, which resembled leaves. We were regarded with cold stares and shoulders. When we walked into the square, it fell silent. A few hushed whispers and some points followed us as we exchanged nervous glances. Suddenly, a bell sounded from the hall and out filed several plate wearing soldiers. The crowds backed away as they surrounded us._

"_Sirs! If you would kindly state you business," one guard shouted, sword drawn, shield in place._

"_We are merely searching for an academy to train in our ways and –" Gargrof tried to say._

_The guard cut him off. "There is none of your kind here, be on your way!"_

_He tried again. "Well then, perhaps you could point us in the –"_

"_You are not welcome! You must leave at once!" he screamed at Gargrof, who sighed. I told him it wasn't worth it and he agreed. We started towards the exit, or so we thought, when we were stopped by a merchant holding a shotgun. Halting, I held up my hands and advised Gargrof to do the same. The guards again were in formation around us. The merchant yelled in fear at our raised hands, turned, and ran into his shop, locking the doors and closing the shutters._

_The guard addressed us again. "You raise your hands to our civilians!"_

"_I did no such thing. He came up to us with a gun and did what any other sane person would do," he tried to explain. I kept quiet, knowing it would not help._

"_He did too!" cried a woman, holding a basket on one arm, the other pointed at us, "And I saw the other one mutter something!"_

_At this, everyone started to yell, saying we did so many things._

"_I saw him reach for a wand!"_

"_I bet he hexed that poor man!"_

_The guards arrested us and put us in irons. We were brought to the keep with the townsfolk following, screaming for justice._

"_They are witches! Put them to death!"_

"_Burn them!"_

"_Show them what we think of them magicking in our town!"_

"_They bring riot! Punish them!"_

_It aggravated me how stupid these people were, but I didn't dare open my mouth to retort. I was anxious. If these people believed us to be witches, the gods only know what would happen to us. When they sat us on a bench to alert the magistrate, they left five well armed men with us. I looked at Gargrof gravely, who was disheartened, he looked lost._

"_What are we going to do?" he asked me._

"_No talking!" a guard barked, causing me to flinch._

_This wasn't just in any sense of the word. I should've stayed home in Danamore, with the wise Sierra Infeld watching over us. She respected mages; these people would like to see us hanging from the noose. I shook my head and prayed silently. I prayed for wisdom for their leader, for hope that he was not blind. _

_Then, a guard appeared from the doorway and motioned for us to enter. Another jerked me up to my feet by the arm and led me along. We entered a large room with a window lighting it from behind a large desk. A young, handsome man was seated behind it. He rose as we came in. An officer walked with him over to us._

"_This is Magistrate Teris," he said, and the magistrate looked at us with narrowed eyes._

"_So, you think you can enter my tranquil town and jinx my personal tailor," he snapped, "And then turn to assault one of my –"_

"_We did nothing wrong!" I called at last in our defense, "All we did was ask if there was an –"_

"_How dare you interrupt me, witch!" he spat before striking me in the face, splitting my lip, which bled down my chin and dripped to the floor. I looked down as there was laughter at my misfortune._

"_I'm half surprised it wasn't blue!" someone had said._

_I didn't look at the proud young magistrate, who I knew would be smiling at pelting a restrained mage._

"_As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," he started, the guards silenced, "There are witnesses of their actions, I assume?"_

"_Yes, sir. I would not have made the arrest unless I had not seen it myself," the guard said, describing his story, "We had calmly explained that they were not welcome, but they refused to leave, saying they wished to start an academy of some sorts," Oh, how they twist our words! "Then, again, I told them to leave. Then, they approached Thompson, this one," he pointed at me, "muttered something and raised his hands, which caused Thompson to flee into is home. It is our belief that he was cursed in some way."_

"_Is it your belief that these men are witches?" Teris asked._

_The guard nodded, stating, "It is also my belief that they are a danger to our society. Their presence disrupts the thin fabric of the peace. The people were all frozen in fear."_

"_That is because you teach them to be. They are brainwashed by your government! Do you not see? There is no reason to fear us, we are not feral animals. We mean no harm," Gargrof interjected, I finally looked up to see Teris going red in the face._

_He exploded, "I do what's best for my people! Not feral, my heel. You magicked a man who was merely attempting to be friendly. You are a menace to the world and all good people."_

_Gargrof argued loudly, "Approaching us with a gun is hardly friendly!"_

_A cold laugh came from the magistrate. "Thompson doesn't own a gun. Why don't you tell some more lies and take more on to your case? The scribe is writing over there, recording every false syllable you spout! Enough, I grow tired of this. Get them out of my sight and clean up this blood. Who knows what's in it," he ordered, before turning to his head guard. I barely caught what he said as I was lead from the room._

"_Let it be known, that at noon tomorrow, the witches have an appointment at the gallows."_

_My heart sank into despair and I walked with my shoulders slumped. We were brought down to a cool stone basement, in it, one jail cell. The one holding my shackled arm opened the door and threw me to the hard ground. The cut on my lip reopened. Gargrof followed soon after. I sat myself up and leaned against the wall._

"_Amasal," he murmured sadly, "Why us?"_

"_I don't know," I replied, I felt my eyes sting as they filled with tears, "I really don't."_

_Why is this so unfair? I asked myself. I had done nothing other than wear robes. These people in Fenix Harbor, they are weak and frightened, afraid to accept the unknown. Why do they reject us so? I know in my heart that there will come a day that mages will be welcomed. Though, I had thought, I would never see that day. I would never see my family again and they would never know what happened to me. I would die without a name._

"_Amasal?" he said again._

_I looked to him. "Yes?"_

"_I'm sorry you didn't get to see the world," he told me softly._

_I gave a short, joyless laugh. "I'm sorry you didn't get to become the greatest mage on Eleith."_

_We sat in silence for some time. I thought about my mother, how she was probably cooking for my little sister, how she was going to grow up into this corrupted world. Little Myria, with her wavy brown hair, just like mine, but longer, down to her waist. How she'd wear overalls and catch frogs in the pond with the boys. How Mother would scold her for getting her shoes muddy. She'd be turning eight soon. I promised that I would send her something from a far off kingdom, making her smile with a few of her teeth missing and hug me. At the memory, a tear ran down my cheek and mixed with the blood from my lip, which had stained my borrowed robes._

Aresia too, felt a tear threaten to fall and her heart started to ache as she thought of her own family. She hadn't seen any of them, or heard anything, in years. Closing her eyes, she envisioned her father in his uniform. He had been part of the town's garrison. He wore chainmail, a dark shirt, and a scabbard at his belt. Her father would always tell her that she got all her mother's beauty, but she would remind him that she had the same light blue eyes.

Their last conversation wasn't a pleasant one. He had been upset with her for being outside on her own during the war. She had told him she was in no danger with the battle so far away. He had shouted at her, his words stung.

"You stay in here you little wretch, or God help you when I find you!"

That night, when her dad was on patrol, she had snuck out the window.

She saw her father and she hid behind a tree. He and another watchman were chatting amongst themselves as a fog settled into the valley where their little town was nestled within the mountains. The fog was cold and she was shivered in her coat. Her father and his companion, Aresia had recognized as Phillips, stopped. She could see her breath while she crouched in a bush. His eyes wandered to her hiding place and then away. He did not see her. Aresia laughed behind her hand, but it was cut short as a man had jumped from the fog and landed on her father. Aresia had gasped when she saw that the man was not truly a man, but something else.

He lacked eyes, his skin was rotting, and he reeked like a corpse. There was no flesh at his elbows or knees; she could see the white of bone against the black night. It was then that she realized the rumors of the plagued soldiers that could not die were true. She was paralyzed, eyes fixed upon the scene, filled with fear, as the man pulled out two daggers.

Phillips had run to get help, she had thought then, but now knew that it was for his own life.

Her father screamed for help and tried to push the monster off of him. He slashed at its arm and gut before it took a dagger and stabbed his sword arm. He then removed the dagger from his upper arm and dug it into the center of his forearm. Her father's cry rang in her ears and she covered them, but she could still hear it.

The undead man's mouth was twisted up in delight as he dragged the knife down his arm, right down the middle, down to the wrist, and through the hand, which had dropped the sword. The dagger finally exited her father in between his third and fourth fingers. He gasped for air and groaned as blood flowed from his arm, creating streams in the cobblestone path. The monster watched his life drain from him as the alarm bell sounded. Taking two fingers in each hand, the undead pulled his arm in half as he screamed in agony, blood splashing on his face, the sounds of bones cracking in the air accompanied by its laughter. A deep, murderous cackle erupted from him as he cruelly twisted the halves of the arm around then snapped each off. The screams came to a stop and were replaced by ragged breathing. The creature again took his daggers, which gleamed red in the light of Aresia's father's dropped lantern, and plunged them into her father's chest. He shuddered, blood leaking from his lips as he let out a soft moan and his breathing grew softer and softer, ending in a final sigh.

Aresia let out a sob, tears streaming down her face. She pulled down her hood and held her face in her hands. A few stray tears tell on the book's pages. She missed her father so much. If only she had helped, she thought miserably. Maybe if he hadn't been so angry with her that night, he wouldn't have taken the shift. The image of her father's body burned in her mind as she hiccupped and her nose ran. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her robes and sniffed as more tears fell. Aresia closed the book and place it on the end table then cried into her pillows. She wept for her father and for herself. When her sobs quieted and her breathing evened, she fell into a peaceful slumber.

End of Chapter I


	5. The Mysterious Elixir

This would be where the elements from other video games become quite apparent.

The Mysterious Elixir

Part I

* * *

The light swish of a black coat gently echoed throughout the well-lit halls. The garment gave a sharp contrast to its surroundings; a bleak white hallway as the passageway. A soft clink resonated from the silver metal of the zipper, joined the clunk of heavy leather boots against the stone floor. The steps slowed to a stop at the sight of a companion, who regarded him with a nod before addressing him.

"Zexion, are you aware that you were summoned to relay your collected data to the Superior?" the man asked, his wardrobe was identical to that of Zexion's, but this man had long dirty blonde hair and a curt expression. He stood near an oak door with his arms crossed.

"Yes, I was just on my way to make a final analysis of the subject," Zexion explained dully, face neutral beneath his dark hair, "So then," he moved to push Vexen aside, "I'll be on my way . . ."

Vexen grabbed his arm and spoke in a hushed, warning tone, "Miss Aresia seemed very unwell."

"Then it should be documented, if you'll let me go . . ."

"You don't understand, she was very upset and she's just fallen asleep. I just don't believe it would be in her best interests for you to-"

Zexion cut him off with a touch of sarcasm that blended with his usual emotionless drone, "Cause the subject to lose consciousness by 'carefully' preparing a calming drought?"

"That was an honest mistake!" the alchemist shouted suddenly, not receiving as much as a blink from the other in reaction to the outburst.

"Oh, I'm sure you're honest about you carelessness. And what if," Zexion speculated, Vexen started to protest, but Zexion continued with emphasis, "What if what Roxas said was possible. If the subject had slipped into an unresponsive coma, or after the fluid ran icily down its throat and through the veins, chill flowing over the warmth of life and smothering it? What would you do then?"

Vexen, stunned, relaxed his grip on Zexion's coat and then spat, "It was completely improbable, you and I both know that wouldn't happen, VI. Who do you take me for?"

"A false expert, a washed up old man whose seen more disastrous mistakes and pathetic attempts at creating life for yourself," he returned bitterly.

"You know as well as I do what Hell this is," he started darkly, "An empty hollow from which no feeling flows from the void. It is my affliction, yours! Are you genuinely as cold as the frozen mass rooted within your chest?"

Zexion's eyes narrowed, "I am always aware of that knot forever tightening, as I gnaw at myself in inexpressiveness to maintain myself. I do not resolve into being rash. Would you like to see Aresia end up like us to temporarily ease your pain?"

"But I am so close! So close I can see it, sense it! Zexion," Vexen practically pleaded to him. "I just need one more, two at most!"

"And two will become four, eight, and sixteen more to doom to our fate. Stop trying to play God, IV. That is what got us here in the first place," Zexion stated with finality. He did not pause to let his words sink in, he saw the agitated scientist portal to his quarters before he calmly knocked on the oak door. He could hear someone approach the door on the opposite side. With a click, the door gave way, revealing a tall young woman dressed in elaborately tailored dark robes with her hood pulled over her head. A ghost of a smile graced her lips, contradicting glazed eyes and the faint reddening of her cheeks.

"Yes?" she asked politely. Glancing past her momentarily, Zexion's eyes caught sight of an oddly covered novel place on the night stand. Then, regaining eye contact, he returned to his original intentions.

"Care to join me in the library?" he proposed, wording carefully. She needed to feel that he was requesting her company instead of simply being tested.

Her head titled slightly in thought, curiosity. "I'd be glad to," she said, her whispery voice trailing with foreign accent.

Taking a step back, he observed as she locked her door and took place next to him.

"Are you enjoying your stay?" he started, walking towards the library at a leisurely pace, hands casually clasped behind his back.

"I suppose. As much as I can, with the given circumstances," she explained as they came to the entrance.

Cutting ahead, Zexion pulled open the door in a mannerly gesture allowing her to go first. "Why do you think you're here?"

He began to lead her through the first aisle of books. "Another test," she said, her gaze up and down the shelves, fascinated.

"Would you believe me if I were to say this encounter was completely off of my records?" he asked. He took a moment to push a boldly purple novel that was precariously balancing on the edge of the shelf with his gentle, gloved hand.

"You've given me no reason not to," she replied. Zexion noticed her eyeing a particularly short story titled, "Notes of Swirls." It was a teenage based plot about love, acceptance, and lies in a 'high school' setting. Not a book to match his taste.

"It's a strange experience to be trusted," he admitted neutrally. Upon seeing a slight questioning expression, he continued, "Those who reside with me consider me a 'Cloaked Schemer' as if every word I say is merely a ploy to draw one into my neatly woven trap."

"I suppose," Aresia murmured.

He allowed a comfortable silence to accumulate between them for several moments as they continued to browse through the collective assortment of every type of story, scripture, poetry, doctrine, resource, or text imaginable. The somewhat musty odor of the older books tickle Zexion's sensitive nose, but over time he'd grown accustomed to its sneeze inducing tendencies. As Aresia took a book from the shelf and started to read the blurb on the back cover, Zexion slipped into a different set of shelves. Silently making his way to the Reference section, he scanned a well kept wall of filing cabinets. Moving his finger along the labels, he found one with Alch 1-75. Yanking it open, he sifted through various manila folders, each tab describing the file. (Minor Healing Potion, Elixir of Minor Agility, Swiftness Potion). Not finding what he was looking for, he slammed it shut noisily and jerked open the next labeled with Alch 76-225. Flipping though these, he past (Elixir of Giant Growth, Potion of Curing, Shadow Oil, Philosopher's Stone) until he finally reached the very last folder, which appeared to not have seen daylight in years. As Zexion pulled it out, dust fell from it. With a slight smirk, he tucked it under his arm, closed the cabinet, turned on his heel and, at a swift pace, returned to where he left Aresia.

If he could, he would have been surprised not to see the mage there. The book she had looked at was replaced in its designated position. For a second, he inhaled deeply and caught the array of spell component's scent. His sight followed it to the left and he continued to head in that direction under the trail ended abruptly. In thought, he leaned against the shelf, closing his eyes for a moment. He then heard a faint ruffle of papers and he spun around. Aresia was examining the file he had been carrying intently. Apparently noticing eyes on her, she looked up at him.

"Oh, is this yours?" she asked innocently, flipping the folder shut and offering it to him, "You must have dropped it."

"I did no such thing," he snapped as he attempted to snatch it back, but Aresia pulled it out of his grasp.

"Now, is that anyway to thank me? What if you had lost it?" she scolded him playfully, but he didn't appear amused at all. Instead of outright refusing, he thought for a second and put on a slight smile.

"I appreciate your assistance," he lied gracefully, "I was actually retrieving this formula to see if you'd create this potion with me. I had overhead you speak with such expertise about the use and preparation of Flametongue, I had assumed you were an alchemist."

She raised an eyebrow momentarily, but the shook her head. "I'm far from an expert, merely dabbled in it from time to time. I know just the basics, enough to get by on my own travels."

"Even so, how about you come down to my lab and we give it a try?" he offered and watched and pondered at how her face looked so . . . excited.

So much so, that she seemed to be restraining herself when she spoke her acceptance. She jumped so exuberantly into the depths of his portal and seemed just itching to have the ingredients in her midst. She had opened the file before Zexion had seated and was already reading off the list of materials.

"A laden dew gland," she said as she rose to her feet and crossed the small, dark lab over to the opposite wall cluttered with a plethora of odd things. As she scanned the shelf she noticed the various labeled jars, beakers, boxes, pouches, and racks of test tubes until she saw a lone, small rounded jar with inside, a plump, green and lined dew gland. Smirking at how pristine the specimen was, she quickly returned to the desk that had seemed to be prepared with the beaker and stirring rod along with a flat knife. The desk itself was long and clack with two tall stools positioned in front of it. When seated you could reach forward to a single shelf of instructional books and encyclopedias of herbs and remedies and some for plagues.

"You seem awfully excited about this whole little potion making experience. Is this a recipe you're already familiar with?" he questioned with a light shade of interest.

She paused, confused, and then said, "Well, elixirs had always perked my curiosity."

"The next reagent on the list is a Violet Tragan.." he started.

"..From the lake in the Acesias Mountians, right?" she said, interrupting him.

Not used to even the slightest of disrespect, he narrowed his eyes, but could not disagree with her statement. "That's correct. Have you been there before?"

"Not that I remember," she replied simply, but with an edge of uncertainty.

"Hm." he made the sound, considering. He had expected her to recognize the recipe and its origin immediately. Perhaps he had been mistaken, putting his mind to other subjects; Zexion carefully plucked a violet mushroom from a terrarium lovingly tended by Marluxia. He placed it onto a small white plate. It had a rounded crown of deep mauve with lighter stripes starting from the outside and meeting in the center. It didn't appear to be very appetizing, but after he asked Aresia her opinion, she had told him that they were almost magical cooked. They would make anything taste wonderful. Devoid of doubt, he took her word for it, assuring her he would not attempt to cook one anytime in his life.

Awkwardly holding the flat knife against the mushroom, he pressed down lightly then removed the pressure. The indentation was clear for a moment before the mushroom slowly rose back into perfect condition. Rereading the instructions, he saw that he was to press lightly, and the fungus would release several milliliters of liquid. Spying on Aresia's actions being conducted next to him, she had made an incision down the mid-section and was in the process of coaxing dew from the gland into a small cup by probing either end of it gently. Soon, the cup was three quarters of the way full and she had disposed of the skin of it properly. When she was finished, she looked very pleased, and looked at him, to the still-standing mushroom and furrowed her eyebrows.

"Do you need help? You seem puzzled by that mushroom there," she said before taking the plate by one finger and tugging it so it was evenly between them. With one hand, she flipped the mushroom up-side down, with the other; she took Zexion's hand with the knife and pressed it on the top of the stalk. It immediately pushed itself into its cap and the sides erupted with sickly sweet smelling goo with made him scrunch up his nose. Aresia threw away the remains and was left with the clear goo, with purple specks of dust. She released his hand and took the flat knife to scrape it into the cup. The concoction fizzled slightly, the settled into a bluish tinge.

Zexion picked up the directions to read for further instruction . . . apparently he hadn't read them thoroughly enough before he filed them under expert alchemy.

_Noggenfogger Elixir_

_made by Marin Noggenfogger_

_- laden dew gland_

_- violet tragen_

_Yo! Juice the gland and mix it with the goo you get from pushing the mushroom. Makes 5 servings that sell for 35 silver each. And remember, time is money, friend!_

He just placed the formula down and sighed as a single test tube was placed in front of him, filled to the brim with blue liquid. Throwing Aresia an inquiring look, she held her own test tube up to him.

"Cheers," she said bringing hers to his with a slight clink before downing the contents like a shot. Zexion looked on in practical awe as he watched Aresia begin to shrink. By the time she had set down the test tube, her hand barely fit around it as she continued to get smaller and smaller. Her feet dangled a few inches off the seat as Aresia sat across from him, examining her enlarged world.

"Well," a shrill voice called from the tiny mage, "your turn."

Zexion eyed the elixir warily; sniffing it for a moment then decided the effects were probably harmless and he raised the tube to his lips and slowly sipped at the liquid, tasting it. It was sweet to taste, but left an acute burning sensation in his mouth. Finding it bearable, he finished the remains of his in one fell swoop. It scalded his throat as it slid down to his stomach, but then the heat spread to his lungs and across his arms. As it traveled down his back, he clenched his teeth and clamped his eyes shut. Then, it continued down his legs and fell backwards off his stool, crying out in pain.

Suddenly, the fire was gone and Zexion went to breathe a sigh of relief . . . but found he was unable to take a breath.* He opened his eyes and tried to claw at whatever was preventing his lungs to fill with air. What was more disturbing was what he saw of his hands as pale bone shined back at him in the dim setting. His hands, wrists, and forearms seemed to have been melted away save for the bone. He checked his legs, only to find his bones; not one strand of muscle appeared to be holding him together. He checked his chest, only to see an empty rib cage.

"No!" he screamed, half surprised he could as he shrank against the wall. He pulled his boney knees to his ribs and held himself. Wishing he could just take a deep breath to clear his head, he heard a small plop.

"Zexion, are you okay?" Aresia asked gently, her small voice barely audible from her shrunken form as she put a compassionate hand on his upper arm. He assumed she was aiming for his shoulder, but couldn't quite reach. "It will go away soon."

Will it? He thought. At first, he thought he should feel distressed, but he really didn't, he didn't "feel" any different at all, so he assumed it wasn't so bad. Composing himself, he shifted into a more comfortable position and examined his skeletal hand again. Titling his head to the side in wonder, he saw his fingers projected from his phalanges in a solid wedge, shaped almost like a claw, making his hand appear three inches longer. He drummed them against the stone floor and heard a smooth staccato that assured him they were real.

"Well, this is interesting," Aresia noted, sitting Indian-style on the cold ground, tucking her little hands in her sleeves. The tapping that had continued suddenly ceased. He paused and then started to laugh, a strange high-pitched bitter sound that even he found unusual. His halted breathing wasn't as bizarre as he had thought it would be at first, it made him wonder if he ever needed to breathe at all, seeing as he had no heart to pump the oxygen he inhaled about his person. No wonder we were never supposed to exist, he thought. We don't even perform all the necessary life functions.

"It is. I had just been thinking, if I don't need to breathe, do I need to eat?" he began to figure aloud, "Without a heart, no oxygen would be transported through my red blood cells to break down glucose into ATP or CO2. If this process never occurs, how do we even function?"

"In your given condition," she responded logically, "I don't believe you can eat."

"True," Zexion reasoned, rising to his feet. Aresia followed suit, but not gaining as much altitude, "Speaking of which, are you hungry? It must have been some time since your last meal."

"About a day." She crossed he arms across her chest as she looked about the room. She had never noticed that there didn't seem to be an exit.

"Accompany me to the kitchens?" he suggested, only to see her seem uncomfortable as he added, "I could carry you."

"How degrading!" she exclaimed, shaking her head, "Just open up a portal and I can manage from there."

"As you wish," he said sarcastically, with an overly formal bow as a portal materialized beside her.

Resisting the slight temptation to roll her eyes, she stepped into the darkness and Zexion watched, giving a short wave. He then began to fade, his image becoming faint before a flash of light appeared to send him rapidly upward, but then he settled a split second later on a tiled floor. Occasionally, he believed the kitchen was the most "homey" public room in the castle with its colors. The counter tops gleamed in the light and the warm brown of the cabinets seemed to give off the sense of peace for Zexion, though, he believed the library had solitude of its own.

Now used to his vastly different appearance, he used his clawed hands to pry open the pantry and extract a small container of seasoning and placed it onto the counter. After that, he pulled package of pre-prepared slices of chicken that were still uncooked, but cut to his preferred size out of the refrigerator and placed it on the counter. A sound of a certain swinging door gained his attention as he had been about to place a gallon of milk next to the seasoning. He looked over to see the intruder and found that it was Demyx, as he turned to wave; he realized that Demyx had drawn his weapon and seemed ready to fight.

"Who are you?" he demanded, taking a step towards Zexion.

Zexion raised his hands out in front of himself defensively before saying, "I'm Zexion."

Demyx didn't seem to have dropped his guard. On the contrary, he looked angry. "Prove it!"

Sighing, he calming explained his and Demyx's rank and their roles in the Organization.

Still unconvinced, Demyx lunged at Zexion with his sitar above him. Zexion quickly sidestepped as the weapon came crashing down against the counter top sending navy chunks of granite flying. Zexion continued attempts of reasoning that fell on deaf ears.

"Demyx!" he yelled, running around to the opposite side of the table as his bare spine was barely missed by Demyx recovering and swinging backhandedly at him before rising on a spout of summoned water and riding it over the table and through Zexion, causing him to fall backwards. Dismissing his wave, Demyx advanced onto Zexion, who was backing his skeletal form into the corner.

"Now are you ready to say who you really are?" he said threateningly.

"I've already told you!"

"Wrong answer!" Demyx shouted. He took up his sitar with two hands, water enveloping it along with a spherical body of water appearing above it, swirling furiously and beginning to glow faintly in the already lit room. In one fluid motion, he swung at Zexion.

He turned his face away and shut his eyes out of instinct, ready for impact.

A few long moments passed, but no attack came.

~~~_sine_~~~~_curves_~~~

The Mysterious Elixir

Part II

Aresia clambered out of the portal into the all too well known white hallway in front of an unmarked door. Approaching it, she pushed against it with all of her might, but the tall, heavy door didn't even budge. Sighing at the fact that she had not seen this coming, she started to wander the halls in search of someone kind enough to help her in her predicament. She tried the left hallway, only to be greeted with a set of stairs. Deciding against attempting this feat, she tried the other way. Making her slow pace, she heard heavy footsteps coming in her direction. To her surprise, it was Demyx who was running towards her with his uniquely shaped instrument of the sorts Aresia had never seen before slung over his shoulder by a strap.

"Hey!" she squeaked as he passed by, causing him to stop dead in his tracks and look around for the source of the noise. "Down here!"

He looked down and saw the black robed mage and went wide-eyed and jaw dropped in shock as he crouched down to see her better.

"Whoa," he breathed as he reached out a curious hand to touch her, which she stepped away from.

"Hey! Listen!" she started, backing away from his enormous hand again, "Will you stop that -oof!"

Demyx's other hand had swept her up from behind. As he now gripped the struggling mage, he brought her up as he stood and looked at her closely.

"You're small!" he announced finally, causing Aresia to roll her eyes.

"Actually, you're just a giant because I've enlarged the whole world!" she proclaimed as she stopped kicking, figuring it would not get her anywhere.

"Really? How did you do that?" he inquired with his eyebrows raised.

"Never mind, weren't you going somewhere?" she implied as he came into realization.

"Oh yeah!" he said excitedly, "You see, I was writing this song with Roxas, right? And so far is seemed really good, so I've been looking for Zexion to see what he thought of it."

Titling her head to the side, she said, "Why Zexion?"

He shrugged. "Most people tell me to go away, he just ignores me and it's always nice to play for someone else," he paused, his voice softening, "And this one time, I asked if I was annoying and he told me that he grown to used to it and it helped him concentrate."

"I see." She nodded. "Well, I was supposed to meet him in the kitchen and, if it means anything to you, I'd enjoy listening to you play."

Demyx smiled a strange false smile as he responded, "I'd be happy to have you as an audience, I've never played for more than one person before. I'll take you to the kitchen then."

Briskly walking to the doorway, he pushed open the swinging door and saw this skeleton taking the mild out of the fridge. He set her down carefully.

"What are you doing?" she asked curiously, seeing him hold his instrument in what appeared to be a fighting stance.

"Don't worry," he reassured her. Even though he greatly loathed fighting, where he was brought up, it was proper for the gentleman to protect the lady. "I'll defend you."

"But Demyx, that's Zex-"

Her pathetic shout was cut off by Demyx's overpowering call. She heard Zexion attempt to prove himself, but nothing convinced the musician. Aresia saw him jump over the counter and heard a loud crash as bits of counter top flew into the air, landing dangerously close to her. She ran for cover under the table. Aresia watched as Zexion fell to the floor and started to inch himself backwards, shouting various things to Demyx, who seemed to be aiming for the kill.

Thinking quickly, she dug her hand into a pouch of cool blue fragments and pulled out a fistful, squeezing it into a ball before running out in front of Demyx and throwing it as high as she could, targeting his chest while whispering, "_Glacies Farnicis."_

Normally, this spell would strike someone in the torso, causing them to be winded and knocked back several feet, but during the current situation, the momentum wasn't quite there.

The ball hit Demyx in the knee, breaking his concentration and causing him to fall forward. The condensing sphere of water was released, which, now being affected by gravity, crashed down onto the poor mage.

Just after, Aresia sprouted back to full size as the potion's effect had worn off, leaving her normal sized, and completely soaked. Slightly annoyed, she attempted to wring out her robes adding to the large puddle on the floor. Then, she noticed that Zexion had on his skin and black overcoat and was studying the scene before him, not comprehending any of it as an aggravated sounding Demyx was pulled himself off the ground.

"Z-Zexion?" he sputtered out, "Oh, wow. I'm so sorry. I didn't know, I mean, I didn't know you could turn into a skeleton . . ."

"Well, next time, take my word for it," Zexion stated flatly, "In the meanwhile, it appears that our resident magic-user could use something else to wear."

"That would be greatly appreciated," she said loudly.

Demyx and Zexion discussed for a moment which of the two's sizes where closest to hers. Zexion pointed out that she was around his because of their similar heights and anything Demyx could offer would be dragging on the floor. As Zexion went to retrieve an extra cloak, Demyx got to clean up the mess on the kitchen floor by lifting the water into the air to deposit it into the sink. Seeing an opportunity for revenge, Aresia withdrew a perfectly rounded blue pebble with a mischievous glint in her eye. She casually tossed it into the moving bubble of water, making it freeze instantly. As Demyx didn't seem able to control the frost element, it dropped to the ground and shattered into a million pieces. As soon as they broke off from the main body, they returned to drops of water and hit the ground with several small splashes, creating a puddle of remarkably similar appearance to the one Demyx had created in the first place. Staring at it with dismay, he crossed his arms and gave an impression on sadness.

"What did you do that for?" he complained to Aresia, who had started to whistle innocently.

"Do what?" she said, causing Demyx to sigh and attempt to have the water float to the sink once again . . . only to the same result.

"That! Don't do that," he scolded her lightly.

"What ever are you talking about?" she asked, taking out a more fast-acting stone.

This time, however, Demyx stood in front of his bubble of water protectively. He had his back to Aresia, who he had shot a very dirty look to. Tactfully tossing the stone above his head, it landed directly into the bubble once again, but this time, after it frost, it burst immediately, sending water in every direction - and a lot of it into Demyx's surprised face. When he turned, his dripping face was fuming, which, to Aresia, was high amusing as she covered her mouth, attempting to stifle a girlish giggle unsuccessfully.

"And they say I'm childish!" he grumbled as he removed the water from himself and the floor and shot it as quickly as he could across the room and down the drain, quite proudly shouting, "Ha!" at Aresia.

"Well played," she said clearly, which wasn't really what Demyx had expected, but before he had a chance to ask what her meaning was, Zexion had returned through the swinging door, spare cloak in hand.

He addressed Aresia, "If you'll come with me, I'll take you to your room so you can dress out."

Complying, she followed, her wet shoes making an interesting sloshing sound against the floor as she walked. Thinking for a second, Demyx figured why not, and accompanied them on the walk to her room. After grabbing his sitar and throwing it over his shoulder again, he ran to catch up.

"So . . ." Demyx started, breaking the silence between them, "Would you like to hear my new song after this?"

"Actually, I had been planning to cook something for Aresia-"

"How about I play while you cook? You had said it helped you concentrate," Demyx said, repeating his earlier words.

"That . . . would be nice," he agreed as they came to the oak door nearest the library.

Aresia waved her hand in front of her abused control panel and it opened. She entered in her password and the door swung open. Taking the extra cloak, she closed the door behind her, telling the other she would just be a moment.

The two men spent a few seconds in awkward silence.

"So, how've-"

"What have-" They started together, leaving another pause as each waited for the other to continue.

"What have you been up to?" Demyx tried shyly.

"Research, mostly. How did your most recent mission fare?" he responded without interest.

"It went good-"

Zexion muttered something under his breath.

"What was that?" Zexion shook his head and Demyx continued, ". . . Okay, as I was saying. It went good, I was sent to scout out this newly discovered area. The place was so strange, the people there kind of remind me of Aresia. Many of them wore dark robes or cloaks and when they were attacked by heartless, they'd never draw a weapon yet their enemies would deteriorate! I've never seen anything like it," he explained with enthusiasm before seeming contemplative, "Do you think she could be from there? Did she mention it at all? The place is called Shadowed Veil Valley."

"I don't recall her mentioning it, it's a possibility though," Zexion stated, leaning against the wall as he waited.

"Well, anyway, when I wrote out my report to the Superior, he was fascinated. Well, as fascinated as nobodies can get . . . guess what?"

Zexion sighed. "What?"

"It's going to be the next place we're going to for the chance the people produce a new type of nobody!" he said rapidly, volume escalating as he spoke.

"What do you mean, new type of nobody?" he asked skeptically.

"Think about it, Zexion! Neither of us had any 'powers' prior to losing our hearts, but these people do. Imagine how they could be amplified while a nobody . . ." Demyx finished, holding his last syllable a bit, seeing something he hadn't thought of before.

Voicing Demyx's thoughts, Zexion whispered, "And what if, when they become a nobody, their powers are extinguished?" he paused, letting it sink in before adding slyly, "We'll just have to find out."

The oak door opened in to show Aresia toying with the zipper of the heavy leather coat. Her robes left draped over the sink, she wore her, now wrinkled, hood she had wrung out along with her boots which, now visible, were a light brown and came up to her knee. She also wore black pants under the coat that seemed to be hastily cut off at the knee from the looks of their frayed hem. Staff in hand, she timidly crossed over the threshold, regarding the two men who had been conferring warmly, with a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She locked the door behind her.

"Are we off to the kitchen then?" chimed Demyx, who made a portal and went ahead through it without them, thinking to tune his sitar quickly before he started practicing.

Zexion gave Aresia a once over and noted, "You still wear your hood."

"Yes," she murmured, adjusting it to cover more of her forehead.

"Are you that afraid to show yourself?" he questioned, walking around her slowly.

"No-"

"Then why do you hide behind such a veil. At first, you might have thought we could dislike you, but I know you know better. I can neither like nor dislike you, no matter how you look, so why," he stopped, facing her, reaching a hand out to gently grasp her hood, only to have her evade, "do you run away?" He returned his hand to his side. "Maybe this isn't about the hood. No, it's deeper than that, isn't it?"

She struggled to look him in the eyes, glancing away and remaining silent.

"Oh, Aresia. You pure, precocious human, what black mark do you conceal with your soft voice and your pretty blue eyes?" he pressed further, increasing her stress as the grip on her staff tightened and her palms grew sweaty. He stepped forward, leaving little distance between them as he could hear her breathing and clearly smell her spell components as they blended with the leather of his coat, "I suppose . . ." he whispered. Lifting his hand, he then lowered it slowly, the lights dimming as he his hand descended until they were shrouded as the dark overtook them. "That story is for another time . . ."

In a flash, the lights illuminated the hallway and Zexion was gone.

Aresia looked around, only seeing the white, bleak corridor and the portal still where Demyx left it. She exhaled a breath she didn't realize she had been holding before going to the portal's entrance, turned, and looked upon the scene briefly before walking through and submerging herself into the icy darkness.

~~~_sine_~~~~_curves_~~~

The Mysterious Elixir

Part III

Demyx sat in a wooden chair, sitar in his lap with his left hand on the finger board, his pointer holding down the topmost string at the fifth fret. His right hand was positioned over the strings above the sound hole, his thumb gently plucking his E then his A. A soft, warm sound was created as the two strings ran with the same tone. Satisfied with this string, he shifted his left pointer down to his A and plucked bother his A and his D. Demyx winced as the tones clashed wildly. Trying them one at a time, he found the second pitch to be much lower than the first.

"Flat," he muttered to himself, moving his hand to the furthest peg and twisting it clockwise while continuously plucking the string as the pitch changed to his liking. Returning his hand to the fifth fret, he played his A and D together, and their sounds melded together nicely. He repeated this process with the rest of his strings. Then, he strummed a light combination of chords quietly, his mind elsewhere. He thought of having to go to battle the next day. Even though Demyx had been strongly against jumping to a war so quickly, as he had told the Superior, but Xemnas had that glint in his eye at potential rise in power and possible expansion. Sighing, he wished he could just sit in his room on the plush carpet, right next to his black, vibrating speaker. He could let the booming music fly through his ears, pick him up and whisk him up and away from this place and other people's battles he has to fight and drop him off in a land of beauty and emotion expressed through notes and rhythms.

"IX," Zexion's voice called, disturbing his process. His up stroke completely missed the strings and he looked up in a daze.

"Yeah?"

"Could you play a little louder?" he asked, "I can barely hear you."

Demyx saw that Zexion had been mixing eggs with milk in a bowl with his sleeves rolled up, showing thin, pale wrists. Instead of responding, he switched the pace of his music to plucking somewhat slowly at a moderate dynamic. It was a song about a girl who fell in love with a singer at first sight. A love so intense, she felt her world could never wrong her as long as he was with her. He hummed the verse and chorus to himself as he played.

The Schemer stopped stirring for a moment and watched Demyx play with his eyes closed, foot tapping to the beat and almost sighed before setting down his fork and opening the container or seasoned bread crumbs and dumping the contents on a plate placed over the hole in the counter from when Demyx had attacked him. He set up a last plate next to that one, which was close to the stove. There was a frying pan on the nearest burner. He stabbed a piece of chicken, dipped it in the milk and egg and then place it in the bread crumbs, using a spoon to smother the meat in it and then put it on the clean plate. Zexion began to follow through with this process when Aresia arrived in the kitchen, walked past him with a brief greeting, which he returned, and sat next to Demyx. She seemed untroubled, but Zexion saw through it, as he saw through her hood, knowing she was taken aback by his interrogation. After he finished the breading, he would fry them until brown and put them on another plate with a paper towel on it to absorb the grease. He noticed the music had chanced pace and that Demyx sang softly.

"_Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd_

_So, so you think you can tell_

_Heaven from Hell_

_Blue skies from pain_

_Can you tell a green field_

_From a cold steel rail_

_A smile from a veil_

_Do you think you can tell_

_Did they get you to trade_

_Your heroes for ghosts_

_Hard ashes for trees_

_Hot air for a cool breeze_

_Cold comfort for change_

_Did you exchange_

_A walk on part in the war_

_For a lead role in the cage_

_Oh how I wish_

_How I wish you were here_

_We're just two lost souls_

_Swimming in a fish bowl_

_Year after year_

_Running over the same old ground_

_And we've found_

_The same old fear_

_Wish you were here_

He then quieted the music, the song faded out. Demyx stayed still for a moment. Zexion had let the chicken burn as he watched. Cursing, he impaled the cooked chicken and threw it on the plate.

Aresia had a slightly more felt reaction. She had sat almost entranced, swaying her head as she listened. The music's feel was completely different from the orchestras she had seen in her homeland and from the traveling bard's rhythmic poetry.

Demyx finally spoke up, "Hey, Zexion, that smells pretty good, what did you make?"

Hesitating, he said, "Chicken cutlets."

"I love chicken cutlets!" he exclaimed before winking at him, "You always make my favorites, Zex."

Rolling his eyes, he took the plate over to the table with a few napkins. The three ate in a relative, comfortable silence until Demyx brought up the fact that he, Larxene, Zexion, Roxas, Xaldin, and Axel were assigned to head to Shadowed Veil Valley the next day.

"What?" Zexion sputtered out, almost choking on his food.

"Where's Shadowed Veil Valley?" she asked curiously with an eyebrow raised.

"Well, that answers one question," Demyx stated, now knowing that Aresia was, in fact, not from Shadowed Veil Valley, before explaining, "it's on this world called Pinellas with a few different regions, but Shadowed Veil is definitely the most interesting-"

"Who cares how 'interesting' it is? What do you mean we're going tomorrow?" Zexion demanded, startling the others at the table with his outburst.

Almost as if he had been physically stricken by him, Demyx spoke softly, hoping not to provoke him again. "It's what the Superior said; I told him that I didn't recommend it . . ."

Zexion, putting a hand on his shoulder, adjusted his tone in attempts at an apologetic one, but came off sarcastic as he said, "Look, I know it's not your fault. It's just very inconvenient."

Swatting his hand away, Demyx stood and sighed, exhausted, before muttering to himself, "Man, I don't want to deal with this."

Throwing his sitar over his shoulder once again, he went to the fridge and grabbed a certain small bottle of Luxord's not quite sparkling cider and left the room.

Aresia sat in a stunned silence, but she quickly recovered. "Do you think I should go talk to him?"

He slouched a bit in his chair, blowing his hair out his face and resting his chin on his hand, looking at the wall as he spoke blandly. "You could, but you see . . . Demyx is having a bit of difficulty accepting the loss of his heart so he tries to act as emotional as possible. Honestly, he's probably driving himself insane with that, but if that's how he chooses to cope, so be it."

"Oh, well, if you'll excuse me, I think I'm going to retreat to my room for the night, thanks for dinner," she said politely, rising to her feet, taking the Staff of Infinite Mysteries with her, which glowed briefly at her touch.

"Pray your dreams are pleasurably void of illusion," Zexion stated with a slight smirk and his plotting eyes. No one knew whether he was being sincere as he said this as a parting good-night. Not even him as he always seemed to speak with his fingers crossed. He stood too, and walked past Aresia and through the swinging door and before it swung back, Roxas had stumbled through it, a bit off balance from using too much force without enough resistance.

"Oh, hey Aresia," Roxas greeted her with a wave, straightening up and walking past her to the table where he collapsed into a chair, catching his breath.

"Hiding from something?" she asked him as she heard someone coming up the hallway.

Apparently, Roxas heard this too and he dove behind the counter.

"Don't tell him I'm here!" Roxas hissed just before Axel charged through the door. There was marker all over his face in a messy rainbow of lines. At the sight, Aresia struggled to choke down a laugh. Axel glared at her as he stood in front of her, almost a head taller in attempts of silencing her, to avail. His threatening gaze mixed with green and pink was even more amusing to witness.

"Where is he? Show me where you're hiding him!" he commanded, rather forcefully.

"I'm not certain who you are talking about. If you're looking for Zexion, he just left," she lied deftly, throwing on a slightly puzzled expression.

"You know exactly who I'm talking about, don't lie to me!" he roared, hands igniting as he spoke, like they were just waiting for some action.

"Don't lose your patience with me," she warned, "I didn't see anyone leave or arrive since Zexion departed."

Behind Axel, Aresia saw Roxas crawling quietly back towards the door.

"Stop protecting him! Enough is enough and this was the last straw!" he shouted before scouring about the room, checking the table, close and the counter before he noticed now the door had been pushed open and was in the process of swinging back in. "Get back here!" With that, Axel was out the door.

Shaking her head, Aresia retraced her steps to the good old oak door, entered her password and was again in her new room. Removing the heavy black coat, she hung it in the wardrobe. Taking a calming breath, she took off her hood to reveal what she considers her atrocity. Once beautiful brown hair appeared coated with fresh blood and the tips of the roots grew with a reddish tinge. Always a reminder, but of something, some gruesome event, that she couldn't ever seem to remember, but also one she would never be able to forget.

* * *

*For those who have possibly used the infamous Noggenfogger Elixir, the buff for skeleton form reads, "You're not breathing....." As someone with an addiction, the technically term being, "Noggaholic," I had to include this in my story.

I suppose there was a little humor in this, it made me smile as I reread it, hope it incites similar feelings in a reader.

Sincerely,

kenthel

P.S. Also, ~ is what a sine curve looks like, if that was confusing to anyone. When this was written, sometime last school year, I had just learned about them and enjoyed drawing them on my Spanish homework, much to the frustration of mi profesora.


End file.
